The Stranger with No Name
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: "He'd been Roderick for so long that he his real name hardly meant anything to him anymore." An exploration of Roderick's character, his beginning with Louise, and what he felt after his time with her came to an end. Rated M, warnings inside. Roderick/Louise.


**Pairing:** Roderick Nelson/Louise Sinclair

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** He'd been Roderick for so long that he his real name hardly meant anything to him anymore.

**Warnings**: Graphic descriptions of torture, murder, and rough sex. (You know, _The Following_'s usual.) There are also very, very brief implications of child sexual abuse.

**Author's Note:** I've become very much intrigued by our mysterious friend Roderick. Here's another peek inside his head.

**Music:** _If I Had a Heart _by Fever Ray

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Even now, he could still recall the first time he and Louise had sex with surprisingly clarity.

He remembered it not for the reasons other people might remember their first times. He hadn't been in love with her. He hadn't been infatuated with her. He hadn't even been that sexually aroused by her—not enough to make a lasting impression, that is. But it didn't matter. The union, the partnership they created that night, meant more to him than some trivial emotional connection or an easily sated desire.

Their calling, their work, was what bonded them.

Sex was an unnecessary but—he quickly realized—certainly a convenient bonus.

Two birds with one stone; that was the saying, wasn't it?

He couldn't help but wonder, even today, if maybe things would be different if they hadn't gone down that road. Maybe she'd still be alive.

Then she would be here, handing him a drink and telling him to stop being such a goddamn pussy.

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It happened two weeks after they'd first met, and only a couple hours after they'd found their first joint target.

The girl was young—not too young—but old enough to understand what was going to happen when she opened her eyes and caught sight of him kneeling before her.

He grinned, listening to her scream, and watched the vein in her forehead grow more pronounced as she exerted herself. He didn't bother telling her that no one would hear her. She already knew, somewhere in the back of her mind—this was just denial.

Roderick liked denial. More specifically, he liked what happened immediately _after _the denial wore off. Seeing that look of recognition enter a target's eye when they realized what was coming was almost as good was watching it leave—finally—when he'd had his fun and dispatched them.

This one had put up a fight—a good one, too. She'd really driven his blood up. He appreciated that in a target.

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Louise made the first move. It was a simple one, and it looked almost painless at first glance. It was just a slap across the face. He almost laughed. This was their first outing together—did she really think that would impress him?

But then when she leaned away and stepped back, Roderick saw that it had been more than a slap. He saw the rivulets of blood running down the girl's cheek, saw the scrapes on her face, heard her howl and weep in pain, and he knew Louise hadn't simply hit their target. She'd clawed the girl like an animal feasting on its prey.

He grinned in amusement—and, yes, a bit of respect now, too—as he turned to take a look at the blonde. She looked a bit taller now, a bit older. A hell of a lot more serious. "Nice," he commended.

She smiled faintly, more out of politeness than anything else—for he hadn't yet shown her what he was made of—and inclined her head in his direction. _Your turn._

He stared at her a moment more, letting his eyes roam over hers before returning to their task. He studied her, and was immediately struck by the darkness he saw in her eyes; he liked the way it lingered just beneath the surface. His did the same, he knew. Joe had told him that long ago.

Finally, he turned back to the girl. She was sniffling now, whimpering and crying, and he couldn't help but sigh. This was always the part that annoyed him. This was the part where she'd start begging for him to stop, blubbering that she'd keep quiet if he let her go… This part was the reason he always brought duct tape, no matter how secluded the location.

He walked to the corner of the room, grabbing the roll out of his bag with another heavy sigh. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered with the young women. They were always such crybabies. Men, of course, were no different—everyone sobbed for their Mommy and Daddy at the end—but at least they usually tried to hold out a little longer. Girls like this one sobbed from the second their eyes opened to the second their eyes closed.

He tore the tape with his teeth for effect, but the loud sound it usually made when he ripped it could barely be heard above the girl's screams. He rolled his eyes, tossing the tape back into his bag before making his way over to the girl. She pleaded with him, cried, begged, but he let her words roll over him like a gentle breeze. They'd be silenced soon.

Once he'd affixed the tape around her face, her desperate words were nothing more than unintelligible groans and grunts. He shut his eyes, letting the near-silence wash over him. It was amazing how quickly the shouts and screams got old, and it was calming to hear her so subdued.

He took a moment, leaning his forehead against the side of the girl's face. He could feel her shiver beneath him, feel her body wrack with sobs. He breathed deep, imagining himself sucking her in, taking her soul, her life, everything that made her human. He imagined himself taking her over, making her his.

He wouldn't have to imagine for long.

He pressed his lips to her ear, keeping his voice low enough so that only the girl could hear. He was sufficiently impressed by Louise so far, but this night—this task—wasn't over yet. She still had to prove herself, and—no matter how much Joe trusted her—Roderick didn't share his ritual with outsiders. His lips brushed against the girl's earlobe as he whispered into it, his voice barely audible over her gagged sobs, "_You're mine now_."

He slipped his hand into his back pocket, reaching for the slim dagger he'd put there hours ago in preparation. He ran his index finger over the tip after he'd unsheathed it and, as always, drew a few drops of blood. He shut his eyes. It felt good.

When he sank the knife into the girl's tanned, supple flesh, her body jerked, spasming in much the same way a lover's body might upon being sated. He thrust the blade in again, again, again—and watched the girl's back arch, watched her arms yank at the restraints, watch pain fill her being as pleasure consumed his.

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"Thank you for bringing the tape," Louise told him with a grateful sigh when he returned to her side to pass off the bloodied baton. "Her jabbering was giving me the worst headache."

"Me too," he replied, the left side of his mouth turning up for a split-second it what he'd been told over and over again was a smile _to die for_. He glanced over at Louise, watching her as she eyed the girl with a frown turning down her small lips.

He frowned as well, switching his focus from his potential partner to their shared target. He could tell by the pool of blood slowly widening and thickening around her that she wouldn't last much longer. He felt the guilt creep up the back of his neck. He'd been a little over-zealous tonight, having forgotten that he had a guest to share his spoils with. Usually, he worked alone. He preferred it that way, preferred being able to take all that he wanted.

He glanced over to Louise, looking her up and down. She was practically spotless. The nails of her left hand were filled with the girl's skin and stained with her blood, but apart from that, there was barely a stain. Roderick couldn't help but look down at himself.

He was a mess. His right hand was covered with the girl's blood all the way up to his elbow, and the smears and spatter from his cuts and stabs had left a very noticeable trail of evidence across his clothes.

His eyes flickered between the two of them, unable to ignore the differences in their appearances. Where he was messy and disheveled, she was perfectly put-together, down to every last strand of her hair that was tucked back in that ponytail.

He supposed he owed her the chance to get a little dirty, and have a little fun.

He took a clean section of his shirt in hand, using it to wipe the dagger clean before he held it out for her, hilt-first. "Would you like to do the honors?" he offered.

Surprised flickered on Louise's face as her eyes trailed away from the naked girl on the floor and returned to him. "Certainly," she replied. A smile turned up the edges of her lips as she eyed the clean blade. "I do like a gentleman," she added teasingly.

Roderick smirked back, watching as she handled the blade. She tested its weight a moment before flexing the weapon in her hand and running her fingers over the handle. When she was ready, she stepped away and made her way towards the body in the center of the room.

The girl let out a series of low, unintelligible moans pierced by a one or two desperate, sharp sobs. She didn't struggle. She knew now, as they had known from the beginning, that this was the end.

Roderick moved forward for a closer look as Louise neared the girl. She was quick—efficient—and didn't waste time with over-dramatics. He liked that. One and done. She plunged the dagger right between the girl's bare breasts, straight into her heart. Roderick found himself blinking, surprised at Louise's boldness. He hadn't expected her to go that route. He'd always been a straight-to-the-heart man, but Joe had taught him personally. All the others he'd met seemed to have a penchant for slitting throats.

Louise stayed bent over the girl's body, waiting and watching as the girl drew her last breaths and her heart pumped its last beats. Then she stood up, turned around, and caught Roderick's eye.

"Well?" she demanded to know. "Did I pass or what?"

A slow smile crept up his face at her immediacy, and he nodded, letting it widen into a full-fledged grin. "With flying colors."

She smiled back briefly—but long enough to let him see that she was truly pleased—before jerking her head towards the corpse at her feet. "Next time, though, you're going to have to leave me more than the crumbs. If we're going to work together, Roderick…"

He nodded hurriedly, shamed for the briefest moment before he finished for her: "Then need to actually work together." He met her cool eyes. "I know. I won't take more than my fair share next time," he promised.

She regarded him silently for a long, charged minute, turning the blade over and over again in her hands like an ordinary person might twirl a pencil. "I'd sure hope not, Roderick."

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_She's feral._

That was the first thought that popped into his head when she pressed her lips against his. He had moved across the room to stand beside her as they surveyed the body and discussed the best mode of disposal, and then suddenly she was all over him. As she forced her mouth against his and her hands on his body, he was remembered of the way she'd clawed that girl. _She's like an animal, _he remembered thinking before, and being impressed. Now it was no different.

The girl lying at their feet had not been dead even two minutes, but already Louise's tongue was in his mouth and her hands were down his pants. Though it was unexpected—and he didn't like the unexpected—he didn't protest. He was hard already, and he suspected she was wet; why else would she come onto him like this?

He hadn't brought her here to do this—he'd brought her here to do a job and find out if she could be his partner—but he had to admit, this was a nice perk.

He'd been hard all night—ever since they'd spotted the girl, followed her, ambushed her… more than once he felt himself close to coming as he'd shoved that knife in her. Watching Louise finish her off had nearly finished him, but he'd held off—because that had been work.

But now the work was done. Now all they had to do was clean up.

He figured they could do that together, too. Share the spoils.

He lifted her up against the closest stable surface in the basement had—the support pillar they'd tied the girl up to—and yanked Louise's pants down as she undid his jeans and pulled his cock out. He hissed, feeling her small hands grip his length just as tight and with as much precision as she had that knife.

Imagining that only made him harder, and he let out a low groan.

He brushed his hand against her slit as he pulled down her panties, and it came away covered in her slick arousal. She was so wet—_so fucking wet_—that he felt like they could go for days on end without ever needing any other lubrication. Maybe one day they'd try it out.

"Fuck me," she ordered at once, and he grinned. She was just as bossy as a sexual partner as a professional one, it turned out, and he was rather surprised to find that he liked that. No woman had ever had the balls to boss him around anymore—he'd made sure of it after that first one—but her complete confidence and total lack of fear struck a chord in him. He remembered the darkness hiding beneath her clear eyes and he wondered if, maybe, they were more alike they he'd first realized.

He braced her up against the pillar, watching with a smirk as she bucked her hips against his, desperate for the release they both knew only he could _really _give her. The girl had brought them both here, boiled their blood and fired up their libido, but now they only had each other left to derive satisfaction from.

"Come on," she demanded, her hands grabbing at his neck and back, clawing at him through his clothes. "Don't be a pussy, Roderick." She pressed her mouth to his, nipping at his lips. "The trial period isn't over yet, and I want to see if you're as good at fucking a woman as you are killing one."

He didn't need any more encouragement than that. He jerked his hips forward, burying himself deep within her sopping wet heat. She groaned, long and loud, her back arching off the concrete that supported it as she ground herself on his cock.

"Mm," she smiled lazily, her half-shut eyes blinking fully open to find his. "Good start." Her hands cupped the back of his neck, burying themselves into his blonde strands. Her teeth nipped at his lips, scraping his skin this time. "But you're going to have to pick up the pace…"

Before she even finished the sentence, he'd done so, and soon her taunts melted away into moans and gasps. He said nothing, instead focusing on breathing, but he knew she could sense his pleasure in the violent thrusts of his body into hers and the grunts that emerged from deep in his throat.

He rubbed his forehead against his shoulder as he continued to move inside her, wiping the sweat away that had been blinding him, and it was then that he caught sight of the dead girl lying at their feet. Her expressionless face, her glassy eyes, her insentient body filled him to the brim, filled him where Louise couldn't, where no woman could. His mind swam with images of her wounds, memories of her screams, and he felt himself grow harder, felt himself begin to fall over the edge. Louise was panting in his ear, her nails digging so hard into the back of his neck he knew they were breaking the skin. He could feel the blood running down his back and it only made him hotter.

He'd be lying, though, if he said it was Louise that pushed him over and into the abyss. She was wonderful, new; she was hot and exciting… But no living woman, no matter how experienced or endowed, could compare to the one at his feet, or the multitudes that came before her. It wasn't Louise that aroused him, nor Louise that completed him. He used Louise's body to achieve his ends, yes, but it was the girl on the floor—the sight of her lifeless body slowly oozing out blood—that finally made him come.

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Her ability to fully arouse him notwithstanding, he couldn't help but admit that she was a good partner. They worked well together, and that was what mattered. That was all that mattered.

After they'd fixed their clothes, cleaned up the area, put the body in the trunk, and then disposed of it, he drove her home. He pulled up to her apartment building, eyeing it out of the early morning darkness. He couldn't help but notice that it wasn't too far from his.

She thanked him for the ride, promised they'd find time to go out and work together again soon, and then headed into her building. Just as she got to the door, she looked over her shoulder. He caught her eye, and unable to hold back a smile, he couldn't help but think that if he ever needed a woman in the middle of the night—be it one to kill with or one to fuck—Louise was the right one to call.

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It was a few more weeks before things changed again.

Louise was a labeler, he soon realized; he suspected it stemmed from her career as a lawyer, though he was certain the labels she was fond of putting on him in private were rarely ones she used in civic court. Roderick had never really thought about his sexual appetites in detail until Louise started in on him with her analyses and her labels. All he knew was that he liked sex and he liked to have sex with women; wasn't that enough? Did there need to be anything more? And did they really need to discuss it as often as they ended up doing?

From Louise's perspective, apparently so. She'd snicker and say there was more, definitely more. She suggested with a laugh more than once that he should see a therapist, for if he couldn't talk with her about it every once in a while, he definitely needed professional help.

"There's something deep in you," she'd hiss, circling around him like the snake she so resembled at times like these. He could feel her body wrap around him even when she wasn't physically touching him. She circled, circled, circled, squeezing the breath out of his being. She was suffocating him, and yet he could never get enough. He wanted her to squeeze the life all but out of him, just so she could bring him back from the brink. "There's something dark in there…"

Her lips moved to his ear as her hand slipped underneath the waistband of his underwear. "There's something broken inside you, honey, and I want to—"

That was the first time he choked her.

He hadn't even meant to, hadn't made the conscious decision to do so, but the moment she said those words, he remembered and he'd do _anything_ not to remember. He'd spent his entire adolescent and adult life trying _not to remember_. Even so, he could recall her words as clearly now, nearly thirty years later, as he could when she'd used to whisper them in his ear.

_Come on, honey, it's okay. You know you want to. You know I'll make you feel good. I always make you feel good. Come on, baby boy. You'll like it, honey, I promise—_

He clutched his hand tighter around her windpipe, hoping to drive out the memories as he killed the one who made them, who'd made him. Then he blinked, and her busy black hair and crooked teeth disappeared; her spotted skin faded. She ceased being _her _and reverted to being Louise and he let go at once.

Choking Louise had been a knee-jerk reaction, in truth—he always lashed out violently when he remembered his childhood—but it became something more when he let go and saw the look in her eyes. It was not anger, not hurt, not fear—she had never feared him—but arousal.

Clear as day for some, clear as the darkness in her for him, he could see the lust fill her eyes. He swallowed, staring down at her as they stood chest to chest, both their sets of lungs gasping for air.

"I'm broken?" he snarled, unable to keep his voice level as he struggled to stay in the present and not revert to the past again. "So what do you want to do—fix me?"

"No…" Her eyes widened in half-genuine half-overdone shock. She shook her head, a saucy grin lighting up her lips. "Not fix you, Roderick…" She leaned closer, licking her lips. "I would never want to change you like that." Her hand reached up to stroke the side of his face, even as he jerked away from her touch. "That would ruin who you are."

"Then—what?" He demanded to know, his nostrils flaring as he glared down at her. "What do you want?"

"I want you to let it out," she replied at once, fearless as always, her chin jutting out towards him. "I want you to show me what you're really made of. Show me what's inside, baby. Show me what you hide from even yourself."

He stared down at her, too taken aback for a moment to respond. "And what about you?" he asked finally. He stepped closer, placing his hand over her neck again. Her eyes fell shut in pleasure, and she inhaled a large breath, pressing her windpipe right up against his hand, just asking for him to clutch it tight. "What… do I do… with you?" he wondered, ever so slowly tightening his hold around her throat as he spoke.

Her eyes glinted with lust, her face animated with excitement. She leaned forward, brushing her breasts against his chest as she leaned her face towards his. "Whatever you want," she whispered, just before he choked her voice away.

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Once, many years later, long after they'd grown used to one another but before things had ever been given the chance to become mundane, she broke a rule.

It was late, and they were lying in her bed just after finishing what had been either their third or fourth round of the night. Nearly all of their sexual encounters blurred together in a mix of slapping skin and biting teeth and gasps for breath, so he could barely tell them apart anymore.

But like that first one, this last would stick out to him—not because of what had happened during, or even right before, but what happened immediately after.

They were lying in bed, their limbs spread out across the rumpled sheets and tangled with one another, when she broke the rule.

"Martha," she whispered softly.

He stared at the ceiling, his forehead creasing as he frowned. _Martha? _he wondered to himself. He tried to remember if the girl they'd played with earlier had had a name. He couldn't remember. "What are you talking about?" he asked after a moment, unable to puzzle it out on his own. "Who's Martha?"

"I'm Martha," she replied. Her voice was the same soft whisper from before, but he could hear it tremble now.

He turned his head, feeling dread creep into his mind even as he tried to stamp it out. _No, _he thought. _No, she isn't_— "You're Louise," he corrected firmly.

She shook her head, sitting up in bed. He stared up at her as she moved to kneel above him, hardly believing what she was saying.

"Martha," she whispered again. "That's my real name."

Roderick stared at her, wordless, as she bent down and kissed him. He looked up at her as she pressed her lips against his, too taken aback to respond in any way, shape, or form.

_Real name? _he wondered, his mind racing. _What is that even supposed to mean?_

How was 'Martha' any more real than 'Louise'? Louise was the woman he trusted. Louise was his partner. Louise was everything he'd known these past few years—and all he'd _wanted_ to know.

Martha was… _nothing_.

"Come on," she whispered against his lips, slipping her tongue into his mouth as her hands cupped his cheeks and swept through his hair. "Tell me yours."

He shook his head—unable, unwilling—and finally, she pulled away. She sat up, staring down at him in disappointment. He gazed up at her, not having a single word to say. What _was _there to say? Did she really expect him to tell her his 'real' name? What did it matter, anyway? He'd been Roderick for so long that now that his 'real' name hardly meant anything to him anymore. His 'real' name was a stranger's name. It was a reminder of a worthless past, of a ruined childhood, of a life he'd succeeded in destroying—in un-making his own—before he'd been so mercifully reborn again and given a new name, a new life.

When Joe had brought him in all those years ago, he'd done more than teach him. He'd baptized him—washing away his pitiful former existence with a spray of warm blood, exorcising his sins with his understanding intellect, and wiping him clean to create Roderick: a new man, a better man, a _real man._

Being Roderick felt so much more _real_ than anything else ever had. Roderick was who he was, who Joe had made him—Roderick was all that mattered.

His former life, like her former life, meant nothing at all.

He blinked up at her, finally letting their eyes meet. "You want to know my real name?" he asked.

She nodded, the smallest smile turning up the edges of her lips. "Yes," she whispered, excitement lacing her tone like it would a child's.

He smiled back, and without knowing why, took the utmost pleasure in watching that happiness disappear from her face as he spoke. "You already do, Louise."

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He left soon after and never returned.

In the months and years that followed, they carried out their work, and fed their desires, but nothing more. They went their separate ways to their separate beds each night, and while it was a lonely new world to acclimate to, he soon found his niche. He'd been alone before. At least he had Joe this time around.

And yet still, it tore at him.

_Martha._

His lip curled whenever he thought of the name, be it if she were nearby or not. He couldn't believe she had told him. He had thought she'd understood, thought she'd been inducted the same as he had. He thought she served Joe first and only, but now he realized she served only herself.

He thought he'd known who she was, but after that night, he was never again able to say with confidence that he understood or trusted her her. They had connected so deeply, so fundamentally, when they'd shared that first kill that he had never expected to face this sort of rift with her. He had never prepared himself for something like this to happen with her. With others? Sure. Others were not to be trusted. Others would always let you down. But Louise? She, apart from Joe, was the only one in the world he trusted.

She was the only one who knew him.

She knew his thoughts before he even constructed them; she knew his moods before they changed; she knew when he needed to be alone and when he needed her. She knew when he wanted it rough and when he wanted it fast; she knew when he wanted to break things and when he wanted to break her and when he wanted to be broken himself; she knew when he needed to be in control and when he needed to _be _controlled.

Or, at least, she _had_ known all that.

Louise had known that.

Martha had known nothing—Martha _was_ nothing—and so he felt nothing when he heard of her death.

It was Louise he mourned, Louise he grieved, and Louise he still thought of today.

She was here still, whispering in his ear every time he put a knife in his hands. She was here, encouraging him, guiding him, telling him—_kill her, Roderick._ Each and every time he looked into those girl's faces, he saw Martha's eyes and heard Louise's voice in his ear. _Kill her, Roderick._ He never hesitated, never faltered, never strayed from the path.

Louise wouldn't have allowed that. His partner always had been so goddamn bossy.

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**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading. This was a completely random one, and I'm still very green when it comes to Roderick—this is only my second try with him, and my first with Louise and this sort of pairing—so reviews, comments, and constructive criticism would be _greatly _appreciated! I'd love to know if he—and Louise—felt real to you all.

Again, thank you for reading.


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